Fox in box

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 He’s a prowler, in the box
Makes himself at home and won’t be shifted
And though he prowls and oft time growls –
He’s never reported – not to the police anyway
Although – one such prowler – Fowler – was.
No, this type normally patrols, like a Rolls
Purring with efficiency
Then exposing the deficiency of others.
These prowlers are often likened, for want of an
Easy rhyme
To bright bushy tailed burnt ochre carnivorous canine type
Hand puppets, called Basil.
Faulty shorthand used to have us wondering
How ‘Fort Knox’ could be applied to this feisty thief –
When in reality a great dictator (journalist) was merely
Drumming up a rhyme about how our predator
‘Fought’ against all the ‘injuries’ picked up
In his 18 yard enclosure.
But not for him, exposure – at least not until after the event
For during the execution of the kill
No manner of trapper could prevent
The desired outcome.
A bulging net. To much acclaim.
To the victor, fortune and fame.
And damsels in frocks. With curly locks.
Among the vanquished : Neil Cox.
Who couldn’t catch him, too quick out of the blocks.
Admiring fans, in denims and docs.
Including Sassenachs and Jocks.
And then there’s always one, who mocks,
Who’d wish a pox
On unwashed socks.
And Statto ticks, as time tocks.
Then the whole ground rocks
As we all end up cheering; me and you too – with Bono Vox!




Dr Seuss and a plethora of strikers!

(Sounds like a band name)

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/fox-in-box/